Guinevere
by Sophie Tribiani
Summary: The Lone Queen who rules after her husband's destined death starts her own fall. Everyone falls. This is the story of Guinevere's tragic and grotesque destiny.
1. Chapter 1

"Mama?"

"Mhmm?"

"What did you do during your first night as Queen?"

Guinevere turned quickly from flattening down her nightgown which hung on the closet door. She froze for a second, then continued on as she always did, masking her inner feelings. "You mean when I first married your father?"

"No, I mean when you became Queen alone."

Gwen cleared her throat. She thought of the lonely girl sitting with her old dress on, the one she used to wear when she was a servant in the court, and wished for anything to be pulled back in time to when she and Arthur used to look to the future and hope. The future had gone for the girl, and she could not but revert to the happy past.

Gwen settled down on the bed next to her small daughter and took her chubby hands in hers, "I was very sad."

The girl looked up at her mother with sparkling innocent eyes. Oh, how those sparkles would fade, Guinevere thought.

"But you became Queen," her daughter said, "And people say that's good."

And then she just sat, rather stunned, listening to her daughter's words. She had forgotten, being the Queen, for most of the citizens, was good. And then she remembered the girl who had clutched the foot of the royal curtains in the corner of the royal chambers. They were embroidered with golden and red threads which scratched painfully against her face.

Guinevere struggled to find the right words, "I needed to be Queen," she finally managed, "But your father was gone, and I didn't like that."

The little girl wrapped her arms around her mother's neck, "People say you were strong."

Gwen hugged her back, and over her daughter's shoulder, she stared at the corner of the room where she had once crumpled. The knights had just left. Well, whoever was still remaining. They were so hesitant to leave, that had there been others with them as witness, they would've all stayed through the night. But decent men would not have wanted to do anything that could be interpreted in a different way.

She had waited until the door had closed completely, then scavenged through to the very back of the closet. She pulled out a small wooden box of souvenirs: Elyan's handkerchief, her father's old pair of working gloves, a necklace from the Morgana she used to know and serve willingly. And then she found her dress. Her dress, covered with stains, mended over and again, tattered and smelling of stale soap. This was Guinevere.

She knew that whatever was left of that girl had long been long, but she couldn't help but slip into the familiar rough fabric. She grabbed the cloth which the servant had left on the windowsill and started feverishly wiping the table for the royals to return.

"I wasn't used to being Queen," Gwen continued, hugging the girl closer to her chest, "Your two grandfathers had been very different people."

She remembered following the cart that carried her father's body down the main stairs that lead to the castle and through the town square. She had tried so hard to keep up but a night full of worry without a second's sleep had gotten to her head. Her vision had been blurred by streams of tears. She grabbed the back of the cart, where her father's hand hung lifeless, waiting for her to kiss them. The man pulling the body flashed her an annoyed look as if all he wanted was to dump the body and go back to sleep. Burying dead bodies for a living would have had that effect on one's personality.

Gwen also remembered taking care of the man who had commissioned for her father to be executed. She remembered serving him dinner on plates of silver and helping him strap on cuffs of gold. She remembered how her father had been killed because he had, unknowingly, dealt with a sorcerer who had created a bar of gold that seemed worthless compared to the Pendragon's mountains of wealth. But by the time Gwen looked after the old king, he had hung lifeless too, an empty shell of a body whose soul had vacated long ago. Guinevere pitied that man, that king who had fell from the highest point. But to Gwen, he never actually reached the highest point. In fact, he was low, so low that she had to look down a far well just to see the lonely ruler whose fear had engulfed what little bit of goodness in his life. Yes, Guinevere pitied that man.

"It had taken me a long time to get used to your father's way of living. But he had to get used to mine too."

"Is that why you let me play with Charlie from the lower town even though the other girls can't?"

"Yes," Gwen lifted the girl's eyes to meet hers, "And I wish you would stop calling him 'Charlie from lower town', he's just Charlie, regardless of where he lives."

"What does regardless mean?"

Gwen laughed softly and kissed her daughter's forehead, "That means it doesn't matter where he's from."

Guinevere returned to the day when she fell in love with the young prince. Specifically, to that one phrase where Arthur had explained how he dreamed of being a farmer. She knew then that to Arthur, it didn't matter what her job was, or what his was either for that matter. She had always wondered whether he would've still had to die if he had been a farmer. Perhaps farming would've been best for both of them.

"I'm just sad you never got to meet him," Guinevere whispered into the little girl's curly copper hair.

"My daddy, the greatest king of Camelot."

Gwen giggled, "Your daddy, the misinterpreted farmer."


	2. Chapter 2

"They've attacked mainly around Colchester. The villagers have been trying their best defending themselves, but they're not holding out. The group we sent off two days ago should have just arrived."

Guinevere gripped her seat. She wasn't used to getting angered so easily, but it had been getting worse these few days since the beginning of the attack. She sucked in her breath, "How many dead?"

When Perceval hesitated, Gwen let out what she had been trying to hold back, "How many dead?!"

Her voice rang through the hall. Some of it bounced from the large round table back to her own ears and she shuddered. She whispered her apology, but Perceval and the other knights only seemed concerned rather than frightened. The first time she had done that, however, they gave a different reaction.

"Fifteen that we last heard of, your highness," he swallowed, "In a village of three hundred souls."

Gwen cleared her throat, "Well, there isn't anything to do anymore is there? We ride out at dawn."

"We? My lady?" came Sir Leon's voice from the other side of the table. Gwen noticed just then that his beard was beginning to grey.

"Yes," she had to clear her throat once more, which was starting to really bother her, "You will fight. And I will negotiate. Lot stays with his army, he always does, and he will want to meet the Queen who rules alone."

She stood up from the table, the scratch of her chair's legs hauntingly echoing, "There will be no war on this kingdom as long as I can help it."

Guinevere flicked her head around and strode down the center of the room towards the guarded double doors, her heels clicking in the silent hall.

. . .

Pillow, blanket, a jug of water on the table for the morning. Guinevere double checked the things she needed for the night. She had servants, several actually, but felt inclined, and rather more comfortable, when she takes care of herself.

She grabbed an extra blanket from storage and lay it down on the sheets by the window. The was winter and Camelot had been buried under a soft layer of white. It was not yet so cold that refugees would start to arrive to hide out the gushing winds and live off of the Camelot food storage. But it was cold enough.

Although it was not the most conventional place to sleep, the Northeast corner of the royal chambers allowed the queen easy accept to the window in case she needed fresh air after a bad dream. Those came often. Besides, she had not slept in the royal bed since the death of her king, and she wasn't about to start again.

Just as she flipped up the sheets and smoothed them out on the ground, a knock came at the door of the royal chambers. Guinevere bit down her strange feeling of suspicion. She wasn't always like this.

"Who is it?" she asked, keeping her voice light.

"It's just Brangaine," the old handmaid yelled through the door, "I was just wondering if you took the little one's blanket. Ain't sleepin' without it."

Gwen looked around to find the old piece of quilt lying on the foot of the perfectly-made bed. She must have left it here when she brought her daughter in this morning. Gwen smiled at the thought of her little girl with blue eyes and grabbed the blanket.

"It's right here, I must've forgotten it."

She pulled the door open, still smiling down at the blanket, and felt a sudden chill air escaping into the room. Her hair even flew up a bit at the ends. Standing there was an old man with long white hair and beard. The old man from the battle ground who was barely as old as she was.

"Leave," Gwen croaked, her smiling fading fast, "You were banned from this kingdom long ago."

But the man seemed insistent, and so when she tried to shut the door, his eyes glowed and the door stuck in place. He did not even have to use his hands. With his long walking stick he poked at Gwen's feet until she backed up so he would be able to enter the doorway. The wooden door closed behind him.

He waddled to the center of the room, taking a quick survey, and then turning to face her.

"Clearly someone does not understand the meaning of 'leave'," she spat bitterly.

"You are riding out tomorrow," he said more as a statement rather than a question.

"Why do you care?"

Suddenly, the man's eyes reflected some kind of hurt towards her statement. He scuffled on his feet and blinked, the expression gone instantly. "There are two options for you."

"Is this a riddle?"

"One, you will stay at Camelot and war will start. Thousands will lose their lives but all will be well one day."

"What are you doing?"

"Two, you ride out tomorrow with the knights of Camelot and you negotiate with Lot. War will be avoided. But when you return, you will not be the same person you once were. You will meet your bane. Your fall will commence, and Guinevere Pendragon, it will be a tragic one."

For a second, Gwen tried to search for the young man she once knew and loved, but this man was not him. "Why are you telling me this?" Gwen asked, raising an eyebrow.

"One person, no matter how great, cannot escape their destiny."

Her fall. Everyone falls. She had been expecting hers for a while. Still, she had to make sure. "Which one is my destiny, one or two?"

"Oh, Queen, I cannot tell you that," the old man smirked menacingly and a gleam in his gaze returned for but a moment, "So, will you ride out tomorrow?"

Gwen paused again, "Why do you care."

This time, the old man looked at her thoughtfully, picking his words wisely, "I don't want my friend to die."

"Your friend died a long time ago, when you failed to save her husband."

Suddenly a sharp pain resonated from Gwen's head. It was painful in a sense that she was feeling the pain of someone else, someone dear to her, which felt even more agonizing.

"Like I said," the man spoke quietly and calmly, "No one can escape their destiny."

Slowly, the pain floated out of her mind and she took a sigh of relief. But this encounter was not over if she could do anything about it. She took the man's arm just as he walked past her towards the door.

"I've fought alongside men, seen them die in battle. Forced to watch as friends were executed by rival kings who smiled down disgustingly at the lonely Queen," Gwen's grasp tightened and she tried to keep her head down, "I feel it's ironic how every time the world is filled with such sorrow and anguish, such danger, there is always a hill. One not unlike the hill perched at the Great Battle. But someone magnificent had risen from that hill, and he saved us all. Every time since I have looked to the hill, but there is always nothing. And then I finally realized that there is no reason for him to return. Why would he save a queen without her king? Why would he come back for the citizens who are no longer Arthur's subjects?"

Guinevere tilted her head towards the man's ear. "What about my friend?" she asked, slowly allowing emotion back to her expression, "Was his destiny really to walk around a lake for an eternity?"

He did not reply, did not even turn around to look at her. She felt hot tears threatening to roll down her hollow cheeks, "What happened to you, Merlin?"

Slowly, Merlin turned his gaze onto Gwen. She saw was a fatigued man yet who was still willing to drag on his ball and chain.

"You couldn't even come back for Gaius' funeral?" Gwen whispered.

Merlin wrenched away his arm and pulled at his sleeve as if he had just been harassed. "Choose wisely tomorrow, my queen."

He nodded and headed for the door.

"I am not your queen, I am your friend!" Gwen yelled, then suddenly afraid that the guards might have heard her.

A quiet snicker came from the old man in the doorway. With his hair so white and his back so hunched over, it was nearly impossible to imagine him as a young sorcerer. "I was under the impression she died a long time ago."


	3. Chapter 3

Guinevere stalked through the entrance quickly, the crisp, cold air still slapping her in the face, even after she had entered the warm tent. She took no notice of the fat pig in armour sitting in a heavy set chair in the middle of the tent, but rather took inventory of the three guards strategically stationed around the edges of her vision. Sir Galahad, the young brave son of Lancelot who had appeared in Camelot, penniless and hungry, stood by his Queen with a protective but innocent gaze.

Gwen took off her gloves, but refused to sit down in front of Lot. He grimaced and bowed his head deep. For some odd reason, Gwen thought he was about to show some humility. "Please don't get up," she blurted quickly.

The greasy king showed her his teeth, or the lack of them. "I don't get up for women, even if they are the Lone Queen of Camelot."

Gwen turned her head away so she would not have to look at into his gut-wrenching soul. She needed to stay calm for business. "Call off your army and I will do the same for mine. There's been enough bloodshed as it is."

"Oh, they're your army now, aren't they? Have you forgotten the great king who trained them?" Lot flattened his hand against a plate perched on the edge of the table beside him. A few moments later, the hand came back up to his face with a drumstick inside it, and he bit generously into the side, his slobber squirting onto the floor. Gwen felt her stomach tie into a knot. Why would this man ever listen to her?

Suddenly, she felt Galahad push up past her position, addressing the opposing king directly, "We serve our Queen with just as much love as we did our King."

"Galahad," Gwen whispered cautiously.

Lot laughed and bits of chicken came flying through the air, "What do you do to make your men love you so, my Queen? I bet you just love watching them die in your honour, don't you?"

Guinevere ground her teeth together and tried to breathe slowly, "Clearly you don't know who I am."

"Oh, but I do," Lot put down his dinner, "You're the serving girl who won the heart of the greatest king Camelot has ever known. You still became queen even after you betrayed him. He should've gotten you to burn at the stake. Tell me, my lady, what did you slip in his drink?"

Gwen's vision blurred with rage. She fought to keep control of her expressionless face. Slowly, her senses came back to her and she swallowed, hard. "Call off your army."

Lot stuck out his chin and leaned forward in his chair. The buckles on his armour creaked under his massive weight, and the brown fabric even cracked, dust flying off the surface. "Beg," he sneered.

Gwen glared directly into the king's golden eyes. There was no changing his desire now. In order to stop a war, she would let him have what he desired.

"Leave us," she said with such authority, she wished she could listen to her own order.

"No," the swine smiled, "I want them here for this."

"If you do not want to get stabbed, I suggest you let them leave," she looked towards Lot's guards, who returned her gaze with pity, "All of them."

"But, my lady..." Galahad began.

Guinevere lowered her head to whisper her words to him, "Don't come in, Galahad, no matter what."

She stared up at the boy's sad eyes. They looked too much like their late father's.

The king nodded and waved his hand towards the entrance of the tent. The knight reluctantly made his way out along with the other guards. The moment the flaps of the tent went still, the fat king lifted himself onto his feet. He stepped threateningly towards Guinevere, who was beginning to shake.

"Call of your army, no one has to die, call off your army."

Lot grabbed hold of her arms and pulled her onto her knees. His legs pinned her thighs down, straddling her waist. She felt his hot stinking breath on her neck, "That's not begging."

"Please," she managed, desperation crawling into her voice, "I'm begging you."

"Yes," he whispered, licking her collar bone.

"Please," she repeated, "Let them go."

She felt his sausage fingers working their way to the back of her dress. "It won't only be Camelot's knights who die, but everyone in this war."

The fidgeting stopped, "Is that a threat?" the king asked.

"No," Gwen let out, "No, it's reality. Have you met all your knights?"

"Oh," Lot groaned, kissing her hair, "I know you have."

"I have. I know them. They're fathers, sons, brothers. They've got families to return to. But they're also willing to die for us."

The king stopped and reeled back, staring suspiciously into Guinevere's determined eyes. "Just like how your brother died for your father."

Lot's hold loosened on her arms and he started to slipped off her legs.

"War killed him," Gwen started to pull her arms away from the fat king, "Interesting how your father died just after you returned to bury your brother's body."

Then, she gently pushed him off her legs. "Tell me," she whispered in his ear, "What did you slip in his drink?"

And with that, Gwen jolted up from the ground and smoothed out her traveling cape which the king had used to choke her and pull her down. "Call off your army," she repeated and then ducked under the tent's flaps and out into the night's air.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, the sky was covered by greyness. There seemed to be fog and rain and dirt all at the same time. A strange type of storm was coming. Guinevere took a deep breath, allowing the cool air to freeze her lungs. She wasn't sure if she was ready for it. Merlin's words continued to run in her head, and she hoped, but doubted, that they were untrue.

She stood with her fox-skin pelt close to her face. She had her battle gear on today, boots, trousers, and so on. Gwen didn't want anything on her that the pig king can pull or ride up. If it had been her choice, she would not ever return. But the matter was still not closed, and so she had to make sure the king heard her message again.

Close behind her was Galahad and Percival. She knew that the young knight had been uncomfortable not leaving Gwen alone last night, but she couldn't help that.

They stood atop a low hill, which the queen found somewhat ironic, overlooking the tents of the opposing forces. The knight she had asked to fetch the king was casually making his way back to them, almost as if he did not talk to Lot at all.

"Where is he?" she asked forcefully.

"I'm sorry, my lady," the knight bowed down low, "But he cannot make it here to meet with you."

"Why not?"

"He's planning with his generals."

"Planning what?"

The knight grimaced much like his king, "An attack."

Just then, a scream came from behind them at the foot of the hill. The queen and her knight swiveled around to see what it was.

"The tents!" a foot soldier screamed, "The tents! They've attacked the tents."

It seemed almost pointless for him to continue yelling, for they saw, panned out behind the hill, knights scrambling to put their armour on, tents burning and tumbling down. Without a moment's hesitation, Galahad grabbed the queen's arms and lead her quickly down the hill. Percival was already a ways ahead, drawing his sword and joining in the battle.

It took a while for Guinevere to wriggle out of Galahad's grip, and by the time she did, they were on the edge of the forest which fringed the field, on which the knights bled.

"Get me a sword, Galahad," Gwen ordered, turning back to the battle.

"My lady," the boy yelled, "What are you doing? We must get you to safety."

"Fine," the queen suddenly stepped close to Galahad and with one smooth motion she drew his sword from his belt and ran off, "Get yourself a sword."

. . .

"Lot's men!" Percival bellowed, elevated above the battleground, "Behold!"

Gradually, each knight stopped their swords and turned to see the announcement. Some cried out in anger, others in triumph, but most remained silent, waiting for the events to unfold. There, with Percival's one knee pushed against his back, was King Lot, his hands bound behind him, his lip bloody, his knees scraping the wet grass. Percival had the pig king by the hair with one hand and he used his other hand to raise his sword in great victory.

"Unless you want your king dead, put down your swords."

Clinging then came from the crowd as swords began to stroon the ground. Camelot's knights kept them up threateningly just in case any decided that the life of their king was a risk they were willing to take.

"And leave!"

One by one, the knights obeyed. With their heads down, they moved towards the other side of the battlefield. Some tried to ambush Percival, but did not see the ring of Camelot's knights surrounding the captured prisoner.

When the men had gone, the knights brought Lot back to the queen's tent. Inside, Guinevere was busy tending to the wounds of several knights, Galahad included. Her braid had come partially undone and dark curly hair came flying about from her temples. Her clothes were tattered and bloody. This was not the queen that came to negotiate with Lot the night before. At this, Lot let out a deep and guttural laugh.

Gwen turned and saw the state the other ruler was in. He too wore clothes in tatters. Drool and blood dripped from his chin as he smiled sinisterly.

"Well, well," she said, with bandages still in her busy hands, "I was right. Thank you for sticking by your tradition of not fighting amongst your own men. It made you that much easier to find."

"You look more like me than you do yourself," the king croaked.

Guinevere threw down the gauze and leaned down so she was face to face with her opponent, "I fight alongside my men and if that limits me from my usual made-up hair and elegant sleeves, then so be it. Who you saw last night is not who you are about to see."

And with that she returned to wrapping gauze on her knights' arms. Lot tried to get up from his knees but Percival pushed him brutally back into the soil.

"You are sly," Gwen continued without looking at King Lot, "You attacked my men without any honour. The last death count was thirty-five on both sides, and every single one of those souls were lost because of your insolence."

With a deep sigh, Guinevere turned to face Lot once more, "I gave you a chance and I'm giving you another. You once drank wine with my husband and I am trying to remember that. Take your army and leave. Don't cross the borders again."

Lot laughed once more, "How about... no? You can't kill me, that'll mean definite war. Can't do anything to me, really, without my men coming after me."

"You won't leave us alone?" Gwen asked, noting that this will be the final time.

"No."

"Then you leave me no choice."

The queen handed the gauze over to another knight and got up. Walking past Lot who still kneeled pitifully on the ground, she whispered to Sir Leon at the doorway to assemble Lot's knights at the foot of the hill.

. . .

"Knights under King Lot," she began in an authoritative tone, "I am Guinevere, Queen of Camelot. I ask you first to listen to what I have to say and consider it. I understand that some might find it hard to listen to anyone but a king, and maybe even to another king besides their own. I then ask that you see me as a friend. How many have lost someone they knew today? Someone they liked or talked to or even just known about?"

A few hands hesitantly raised, but others swatted them down.

"Was the cause you fought for today worth dying for? Or was it just the greed of one man, wanting to take advantage of a poor village? You may still support your king and he may still be popular, but what happens when that king asks you and those around you to lay down your life simply because he wants to raid a village?"

Gwen swallowed, this was the moment where she needs to convince the crowd, and she was never able to do that as well as Arthur, "Go back to your kingdom. Call on the prince of the land, the king's third son, to become the next king, for his father has passed away."

"They killed the king!" came a shout from the crowd, "For Lot!"

A lone sword rose in a sea of armoured bodies, but for a long while, no one moved. Some seemed hesitant, some seemed bewildered, and some seemed even happy. Those who wanted Guinevere's head was waiting for their fellow knights to attack, but they were coming about too slowly. This was Gwen's chance.

"How many of you want to die today?" she paused, "How many?"

Every pair of eyes were on her.

"We did not attack your king. He took a blow from our defense, and one that one wound killed him. I am sorry for your loss. I am so sorry. There's been enough bloodshed today. Go home to your families. We will not threaten any of them if you do not threaten us. I vow it. Honour your new king and tell him of my promise. And ask that he remember dining with Arthur and Guinevere Pendragon."

Soon after her speech, some began to turn back from the hill and head across the vast fields of green. Guinevere recognised some faces, those she had met while visiting Lot with her husband long ago. They looked back at her with recognition as well, some even with gratitude. She could only imagine what they suffered through under Lot's hand. Gwen remembered those pair of hands on her, and tried not to shiver.

Some other knights looked at her with disgust and hatred, but allowed themselves eventually to be pulled away by their comrades. The battle had ended, and they did not want to waste their lives for a king they barely loved. Gwen only hoped that the young prince would be different from his father as Arthur was once different from his tyrant of a father.

When the knights became tiny shadows on the horizon, Guinevere headed back to the tent. Now, King Lot was tied to a chair with two guards, Galahad and another young knight no more than three years older than Lancelot's son. They got up when they saw their queen, but she hastily waved them down.

"We leave at dawn tomorrow," the queen informed them, then turned to the bloody king, "Your throne is gone. Your people don't love you enough to fight anymore."

"Let's hope I've taught my boy well then," Lot snickered, but Gwen sensed a tinge of fear in his voice, "For he will avenge me."

"You have forgotten that I have seen that sweet boy," Gwen said, "He is nothing like you."

There was a pause as the king observed Guinevere's cold face. He was starting to realize that she was not the kind soul she was when she had visited him those years back with her husband. She was not like Arthur.

"Apologize for your actions," she demanded, much like to a child.

"What?" Lot laughed, "For last night? I ain't gonna apologize for that."

The scrape of a sword came from Galahad's belt. Gwen turned to see him gritting his teeth and breathing heavily in anguish.

"Keep him alive," the queen ordered, "Other than that, do what you want with him."

And with that, Guinevere stalked out of the tent. Lot peered over at his two guards, one, he knew was called Galahad, but the other was unknown to him. Camelot had gained many young knights over the past years after Arthur's death, no doubt from all the stories of his magnificent court and knights and adventures.

"What did you do to her?" Galahad asked quietly, his face contorted with pain, "What did you do to her?!"

Lot found it suspicious how the boy was so bothered by the safety of his queen. He found it even hilarious. He wanted to mess with the boy. "Nothing you would understand."

Suddenly the knight gave such a piercing scream that even his partner guard seemed startled. Galahad pounced in front of Lot's chair and grasped the sides of it. "What did you do?!" he growled.

Lot made sure he pronounced his words clearly, "Nothing."

Galahad screamed again and this time, the sound continued and filled the small tent. The young knight took Lot by the belt and cut through it with his sword. Then, rather strangely, he pulled down the king's pants and castrated the king. Galahad, at the last stage of his rage, threw it as far as his arm would allow.


	5. Chapter 5

They brought Lot back to Camelot in a cage with the bars covered by dark fabric so no one would see their spoil of the battle. The only sound from the cage throughout the whole three days of travel was a low whimpering of sadness.

They threw him into the lowest of the dungeons and allowed only the most trustworthy guards to watch over him. Every one else believed he was dead. After half a year, no one came looking for the king. After a year, still no one came. No one even suspected because no one seemed to want to know. They understood that their Queen Guinevere would have done anything to prevent a war that would've lost so many lives, and they were just glad she had accomplished it once again. Several threats had made themselves prominent after the death of their king, the stronghold that kept the kingdom safe. But it seemed that Guinevere had a talent for preventing conflicts. She always negotiated with the kings face to face. And she always did them alone.

It wasn't until Galahad had appeared one day in Camelot that Gwen seemed she could ever have a friend again. The knights she knew were gone save two of them, and one had served Uther and was losing his once great mind. The other was often secluded and solemn and would sit hours at the round table after everyone had left, as if he was still waiting for someone who had not yet arrived.

The queen herself always took an authoritative figure. She never missed a council meeting. She never stayed uninvolved in problems and disputes. However, the friendly conversations she used to have with servants in the hallways or with citizens in the lower town had stopped. The most they got was a nod of approval. It seemed like she really was a queen. But just a queen. No longer a person. Before Arthur's death, Guinevere seemed to have made a great mother to every citizen of Camelot. But it had became an unspoken understanding that Guinevere does not attend or care to her daughter as much as she should. It seemed she did not even remember she had a daughter when she had great affairs on her mind. The little princess was left in the constant care of Brangaine, the queen's nanny.

When Galahad approached the castle for the first time one autumn morning with nothing but a small pack with some clothes and food, Gwen immediately took him into the court. Within a month of training with the other knights, he himself was granted the honourable title of Sir Galahad. Not many knew that he was the son of the man who had betrayed their king, but those who did felt that they weren't really in the position to tell this information to others.

And so Camelot continued to be run mechanically, but the spirit of the court had gone. Even knighting ceremonies seemed rigid and even sad.

On two occasions throughout the year that King Lot was held under in the darkest dungeon before he died, the queen paid him visits. Once a week after they had arrived back home from avoiding the war. The queen approached the bars of his cell and quietly asked the guards to leave. She watched as he slowly lifted his head up to look at his captor.

"I heard what Galahad did to you," Gwen said, sounding genuine.

"Don't apologize," Lot spat hoarsely, "That'll do nothing."

"You're right," Guinevere stated slowly, as though to herself, "I will let you go."

Lot laughed, "And you will shoot me."

"I'll keep my word," the queen said with more force, "If you promise me you will not attack Camelot once you leave."

There was a long pause where the dark seemed to have swallowed everything. Only the crack of the torch in Gwen's hand sounded, and it did more fill the silence than light the shadows.

"You took away my throne," came the deep voice hunched in the corner, "My land. You took away my life. Why would I still listen to you?"

It was such a simple question that it hadn't occurred to Guinevere at all. "I don't know," was all she was able to say.

"Then I hope your kingdom falls and the memory of you and your husband be tainted and forgotten fast."

Guinevere leaned against the bars, "And I hope you die in your own filth."

. . .

The days went on as usual after her first visit to Lot. She continued to send down food twice a day and the occasional change in clothing and even the court physician every so often. But she never went down those steps again until the second, and the last time.

One day nearly a year since that day, Galahad entered the queen's chambers well after supper, right before the castle was about to settle down to bed. Guinevere herself had changed into a satin white robe with long flowing sleeves and was surprised to see her youngest knight at her door so late.

"Yes, Galahad?" the queen asked softly.

"My lady," Galahad whispered, barely able to keep in his excitement, "There's someone who's wishing to see you. And it is true that it is because of magic that he is here but, one must disregard such things for certain matters."

"Galahad," Gwen frowned, "What are you talking about?"

"My queen, would you like to go on a walk with me?"

Guinevere smiled, "In the night?"

"You will have Camelot's finest to protect you," he boasted.

The queen stared at Galahad in disbelief, then quickly got her travelling cape and closed the door to the royal chambers after her.

They made their way through the town quietly, hiding themselves from the guards patrolling the night. Swiftly, they made their way out of the city walls and across a small field, into the forest. Then Galahad started to run, started to dash through the trees, all the while pulling the queen forward by the hold he had on her elbow.

Soon they arrived at a little clearing in the forest surrounded by fallen down logs and winding vines. The hole in the canopy allowed a thick ray of moonlight to shine down into the clearing, right onto a figure, standing with his head down in the center of the clearing. The soft linen shirt draped from his broad shoulders. His muscles still bulged as if he was still in his youth, but the colour of his hair told Guinevere otherwise. The dark locks were stained with grey streaks. No, she has not seen him in a while.

"That's not possible," Gwen swallowed, feeling her heart quicken five-fold, "He's dead."

"And so are a lot of people, but they walk the streets thanks to magic," Galahad casually approached the man in the middle of the clearing, "Tell her, father."

Slowly, Lancelot lifted his head and instantly, his eyes met with the queen's. They stood there for what seemed like an eternity, having nothing to say to each other and yet being stumped by all the things they want to get out of their mouths.

"Father," Galahad said again, his happiness quickly fading.

"Let the queen decide for herself, Galahad," Lancelot said in his deep, smooth voice. Gwen caught her breathing and her heart skipped a beat.

"He's dead," she repeated, "He died twice."

"That wasn't me" Lancelot insisted, lifting his chin up a little higher, "I would never do that to my king. I have committed the sin of thought but I would never..."

"My queen, you must forgive my father," Galahad interrupted, then noticed his voice seemed wrong in this conversation and backed away.

After a long period of silence, Guinevere finally opened her mouth, "Who is Galahad's mother?"

"I thought it was you," Lancelot looked down to his feet, "I thought you had brought me back to life. I was weak, I didn't know what I was doing. Even if it was you, it would've been wrong. But slowly I noticed the differences, the problems that that Guinevere had that my Gwen never did. But I stayed with her for the sake of Galahad. When he grew to be of age, I brought him here and left, knowing I couldn't come back after what people thought I had done. But only later did I learn of my king's death. I am sorry, my lady."

All of a sudden, Gwen flung herself forward. Within two steps, she grasped Lancelot's face and kissed him feverishly. He immediately returned the kiss, lifting her up off the ground by the waist. The queen whimpered but kept her lips on the knight's.

Galahad smiled. He had loved the queen as a mother the minute he saw her. Although he had learned eventually of his own mother's true nature, he couldn't help but fall in love with who she appeared to be. He was now truly happy. The queen was the queen, but the king was dead. The young knight had never seen him before. He knew that the love between his mother and father was true, and it was more important than any social boundaries.


	6. Chapter 6

The queen's last meeting with her prisoner was a week after the first meeting with her lover. She, as before, dismissed the guards and observed Lot in his pitiful state from the illumination from a large torch.

The former king had gotten skinny. His fat seemed to have fallen off of him entirely. The bones of his shoulders showed prominently through his layer of dirty skin. Guinevere wasn't surprised considering how for the last month or so the food she'd sent down had came back up untouched. She felt like she should've had some kind of reaction to the deterioration of this man, some kind of sadness, sympathy, even pity. But if anything, she felt triumphant.

"Good evening, my king," she mocked him.

"Is it evening?" Lot replied, sounding more like he was genuinely curious rather than ironic.

Guinevere snickered, the noise low and booming through the dark dungeons, "Tell me what I should feel for you?"

Lot lifted his head slowly, his grey beard and hair drooping around his face. He crawled shakily towards the bars, the light from the torch gradually showing more of his face. He squinted towards the fire, pausing for just a moment before spitting on Guinevere's shoes. Tightening her jaw from rage, the queen kicked her prisoner back.

"Do you remember a high priestess?" the king hissed and scrambled back, "You should, you used to serve her."

"What are going to say?" Guinevere interrupted him, "Am I the same as Morgana, is that it?"

The king gave her royal highness a wide grin, showing all of his rotten or missing teeth, "She was a witch, you are so much worse than that."

Guinevere leaned down to meet Lot's eyes, "Don't blame me for this. I gave you chances. You chose this."

When Lot did not answer, the queen continued, "You're angry. You're angry because you lost the most important thing there is in the world: Love. You never really had any."

Guinevere giggled, "And now you can't even..."

Her laughter ran through the underground tunnels and a deep shiver went down Camelot's spin. "It's all gone for you," she continued to laugh, allowing her voice to increase in volume, "Everything. You're not even a man anymore."

"Look at you," Lot spat again, "Mocking your prisoner."

"I don't care," she screamed, still laughing as if this was all a big joke that no one else could understand, "I don't care. The people of Camelot love me. They cherish me. My king, several times, risked his whole life and kingdom just to rescue me. You! No one cares about you! No one loves you!"

"And no one really cares about you either," Lot shouted over the queen's hysteria.

"You're nothing," Guinevere repeated, dancing around to her whole words, "You're not even a man. You don't know what you've been missing."

She pointed out a finger and laughed hard. The queen dropped her torch and bent double, pointing and laughing at the former king, who pulled back into the darkness and covered his ears from his captor's piercing laugh. Lot shook his head around, trying to rid himself of the noise, of the pain that flowed through his body. He had lost everything, he wasn't a man anymore. He was nothing. No, he was a prisoner rotting in his own filth, just as she had said. He had been in this dungeon for heaven knows how long and only heaven knows how much longer. He wanted this to be all over. Just all over.

"Shut up!" he screamed from inside the cell. The laughter, surprisingly stopped, but the queen still kept her crooked smile on her now crooked face.

"Whatever you put in your husband's drink," Lot said, with the last of his mockery and slyness, "Could you put it in mine, now?"

Guinevere took out a small water bag and approached the cell bars. Extending her hand out, she uncorked the bag and spilled the liquid contents onto the dry dirt. The liquid dripped smoothing down the rusted bars of the cell and pooled on the floor. It ran as over bumps on the ground as if creating a system of streams, rivers and lakes. The queen stepped back and took the torch from the ground. With one hard thrust, she stabbed the torch through the bars, and then let go of it, allowing the flames to lick up the system the oil had created. Lot was close enough to feel the scorching heat on his face. His unwashed clothes quickly felt the heat too, and he screamed.

The queen turned and left her prisoner to burn. Gwen had left, and the woman of her destiny had replaced her.

. . .

Guinevere woke up with a bitter taste in her mouth. She turned over on the prickly forest floor, the twigs poking her bare back. An arm was lazily dumped on her torso, and she was gentle to move it away so that she would not wake the noble Lancelot.

She watched him breathe rhythmically, and somehow her heart was pained. Perhaps it was because she has not had someone with her at night for so long. Perhaps it was because sleeping alone on the floor, terrified of the bed she once shared with the king, had eventually gotten to her bones that she forgot what it was like to do anything but that. She sat up and slipping her nightgown back on, she curled against a tree, somewhat far from her lover. Guinevere started a flame and watched it crackle in front of her. She saw Lancelot's red cape and sword, saw her brother's body burning in a boat, saw herself placing her father's ashes beside her mother's in the ground. She saw the countless executions of witches and sorcerers, but most of all, of children and mothers and grandfathers. She saw the queen performing the rituals for Arthur Pendragon every year with her daughter watching fearfully on. She saw her prisoner screaming in his dungeon.

"That last one's different from all the others."

Guinevere looked up quickly, grabbing a stick from the ground automatically for security. Half of the old man's face was visible; he had not aged since the last time she saw him.

"You chose that one," he continued, "You chose for this man one of the most painful ways out of life. You chose to show no mercy and instead kill the weak. You come here every night, disgracing your king's name, and you thought no one was watching? The whole of Camelot knows, Guinevere."

The queen remembered the looks the servants shot her way. Those of pity, of hatred, of confusion, had never been there before. They would stop their talk when she entered the room. The knights too, seemed more secluded from usual. Sir Leon even cussed at her when she eventually came around to visit and told him of the good news about Lancelot, but she had dismissed it as him losing his mind at old age. But they had continued to listen to her, to come to her for aid. She was still their queen.

"You're wrong," she managed.

"About what?" Merlin suddenly seemed like he was trying to calm himself, "It is how it is. I just hoped that it wouldn't come to this. An old man's wishful thinking."

Guinevere gazed up slowly at the old man, desperately trying to see her old friend in him. But that was gone, just an old queen's wishful thinking. "What will happen to me?" she asked.

"You will die at your own hand," he said simply.

"And the kingdom?"

Merlin sighed. "The Pendragon line will be broken, but Albion will continue. At its hour of doom, Arthur, the once and future king, will return to the land and restore the kingdom he has built,"  
he paused, "You, however, will not be returning with him as queen."

"Good," Guinevere whispered, "Good. What about my daughter? She's a Pendragon even though her children will not be."

"Your daughter will not rule this land. Both her parents died from it, do you really think she will continue? As for her children, they certainly are not royalty. But they will be happy, and in time the people of the land will forget her."

"And Lancelot?"

"He was gone a long time ago. Shades of him still exist because he was the material that closed the door between the living and dead. This particular one was brought back by his son's passion, and therefore reflected Lancelot's own passion. He will fade soon enough."

Guinevere rocked a bit on her heels, then crawled back beside her lover, stroking his hair, letting the tears fall from her face and onto his skin.

"Will I get to see him?" she asked softly, looking up at the sorcerer, "My husband?"

Merlin took a long pause, "You will not want to."

Guinevere took a deep breath, "Why are you telling me this?"

The old man's eyes twitched at the question, "Because you are my friend. And I want you to know."

The queen nodded in gratitude at the old man. He turned towards the shadows, ready to leave, when Guinevere brought up one last question, "What do they remember me for?"

Merlin did not turn around. "For your kindness. For your leadership and soft words."

Gwen took a sigh of relief.

"For your betrayal."


	7. Chapter 7

"Are you sure you have enough?" the aging Brangaine asked, stuffing another two loaves of bread into the princess's pack.

"I'm fine," the girl said. A woman now who had lived through many grievances. Her mother, the queen, had taken her own life a few weeks back, but her daughter felt no sadness. She never really knew her mother. Although they lived within the same castle throughout her whole life, she spent her years scarcely with the queen of the land. Eventually, by her early teens, her mother began her spiral down from grace. It saddened her to see the queen lose herself so, but no more saddened than the average citizen of Camelot, even though she was her mother as well.

After her mother's suicide, there seemed no point in staying. Some of the knights begged her to stay and maintain the Pendragon line, but she barely even felt like a Pendragon. She knew her father from the great tales the knights would tell and the beautiful ballads that the people would sing. But that was not the man that would've taken care of her and held her in his lap, that was a king in a far off folklore. In a way, the princess felt that her mother was too.

Most knights, however, felt no obligation towards the previous king whom they've never met nor fought for. A new generation had entered to protect Camelot, and they only knew the great king as the princess did, with no strings attached. They never felt any obligation towards the previous queen, seeing as how she was queen and wasn't even supposed to rule on her own, not to mention the fact that she was pretty much useless in the last few years of her life.

"Maybe just some more of this," the old handmaid held up some sausages in front of the princess's face, which she took away to put back down into the table.

The girl smiled through her light tears and grabbed her old maid's hands which were shaking, "I'll be fine."

"Look at you," the maid whispered, looking the girl up and down, watching as her light blue dress flowed down to the ground. There were no royal embroidery on this one, those had all been sold or given away. This was the most plain, the most simple one, and the princess just wouldn't let it go.

The maid wiped some tears off the girl's face, "Are you sure you should go alone, why can't I come along? I do always, don't I?"

The princess giggled and sniffed, "You belong in the court. Who knows when another baby will be needing your expertise. I'll be fine."

"You always say that," Brangaine started to sniff too, "Stubborn child."

The princess started to cry again, and the old maid pulled the child into her arms. Out of everyone she had ever met, the princess was the saddest to leave her old nanny.

With one last hug, the girl headed out of the rusty doors of the court nanny's small house in the lower town and threaded through the muddy streets towards Camelot's great walls. The majority of people didn't look up at her, and those who did recognise their princess pulled down their hoods and continued on with their day. She didn't blame them, and in fact was glad they paid no attention to her leave.

Just as she got to the great gates, a hand on her shoulder pulled her back from the exit. And old man with a basket of bread smiled. "Princess," she said, "In all the years you've been alive, I've never known your name."

This made the girl smile kindly, just as her mother once did, "It's Enide."

She felt a sudden urge to tell this man what was to be next in her life, "I'm going to leave this place and never come back. Constantine will be king now, and he'll do it better than anyone. I'm going to start a new life."

"This place," the man croaked but not in a nasty way, "Will find its way back into your life. Your old friend, Erec from the lower town, is practically starting to look for you already. This is your home, Princess."

The girl nodded, "It's not Princess, it's Enide."

And with that, she said goodbye to the old man with the long white beard and hair and turned to walk out of Camelot.


End file.
